


The Lions On The Plain

by gala_apples



Series: Shameless First Impressions [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon typical drug use, Fight Sex, Fist Fights, Frottage, M/M, Season/Series 02, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23976913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: It's Grammy's idea that they fight. Ian is sure that Grammy neither expects what happens instead, nor gives a flying fuck about her grandsons and if her suggestion has fucked them up worse.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Lip Gallagher, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Shameless First Impressions [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724326
Kudos: 48





	The Lions On The Plain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'push and pull' for my Shameless bingo card.
> 
> In my main fandom, there's an animation, [Fight fight fight, kiss kiss!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qUg7MMW800U) and now-a-days any time I'm watching content where my faves are fighting, it comes to mind. Lip and Ian have such stupid boy aggression and tension in the second half of season two, I just had to write fighty sex.

Ian thinks about what Grammy said all day. _One of the lions has to leave the den. Strongest one’s gotta push the other one out. Or eat him. Only one way to resolve this, somebody’s gotta bleed. Fight it out, see who’s alpha wolf_. He’s going to fuck Lip up. It’ll put him on the top of the pecking order, and he’ll feel better. Everything will feel less like it’s going to fall apart at any second, every moment of the day overwhelming. He thinks about it during breakfast, eating cereal beside Carl and feeling a phantom itch in his knuckles. He thinks about it at the Kash and Grab, being barked at by Linda and totally surrounded by his mistakes, what it'll feel like getting that fucker in a headlock. He thinks about it on his lunch break, where he’s not so much eating as he is fucking Mickey into the shelving, how he’s going to break his nose. He thinks about it as he walks home, and decides to change what he’s wearing so he can look his best for the fight. He’s gonna beat Lip senseless and everything is going to get better.

Most of Ian’s clothes are hand me downs. A few things were bought with leftover cash, though most of every paycheck goes to house bills, the squirrel fund, or the bullshit emergency of the week. And he’s still got the shoes Kash bought him, because as much as he regrets a lot about that relationship, he can’t afford to throw good shit out for no reason. It’s hard to dress like an impressive badass alpha dog when you’re wearing your big brother’s clothing.

It’s five twenty and he’s in his most Kevin-like outfit, dark cargos and a motorcycle shirt on top of a grey off brand Henley. It’s a five minute jog at most to the area under the L he knows Lip wants to meet him at. That gives him half an hour to pace, plan some moves, develop a script of witticisms that are indestructible in the face of Lip’s sarcasm. He should smoke a joint. There’s no way Lip isn’t going to show up to the fight either drunk or high. Lip’s the kind of petty asshole who editorializes a retelling of the event, he’ll inevitably blame the pounding Ian’s about to lay on him on a difference in sobriety. But if he’s high, that addendum to that story of power and victory goes away.

Half of Ian wants to dig it out of Lip’s stash out of spite. He’s still got plenty from Kev’s supercrop, but screw Lip. On the other hand, Lip will figure it out soon enough. Weed isn’t like coke or meth, you don’t lose track of how much you have because you’ve done it all in a frenzy to maintain the high. At this point Ian hates the idea of Lip thinking he owes him anything, regardless of if he’s going to pay it back or not. Better to smoke his own bowl, even if Lip deserves to not have anything left.

At ten to six he leaves the house again, locking up because no one’s home except him. He makes a steady ROTC-approved six minute mile down to the particular patch of scrub they’ve gone to forever to escape Frank and Monica and all the other shit. The last few months there’s been an abandoned couch resting there. It’s slowly getting more and more filthy, and it’s waterlogged for days after a rainshower, but there’s no bedbugs or other infestations yet. It’s been a comfortable spot to chill and share a bottle with Mandy and Lip after fight club, until Lip’s obsession with Karen and Jody fucked it all up. Ian’s so fucking sick of shit getting fucked up. Everything else is always in ruins, but Lip’s supposed to be better than their circumstances, even if Ian’s not.

Ian has changed his greeting stance several times by the time Lip deigns to show up. “You’re late. Where the fuck have you been?”

“Just getting blown by some, uh, pregnant skank, as you call her,” Lip calls out.

Ian spits into the grass and takes a few steps to the side as Lip comes striding towards him. Fuck Lip, and double fuck Karen who’s about to fuck up Lip’s life entirely by turning him into a teenage father instead of the genius South Side punk he is. “Because that’s what she is.”

As anticipated, slandering precious goddamn Karen starts the proceedings. Lip swings but Ian ducks it, then grabs Lip by both hips. Ian throws Lip into the back of the abandoned couch and when Lip topples over the top of it, Ian gracefully springs over it. Rule one of combat: whomever is less disoriented has a great advantage, so feel free to make opponents dizzy or half blinded. Lip’s stunned enough from the change in gravity that it’s easy to punch Lip in the stomach without him blocking it. Only after the blow is delivered does Lip grab his arm. Ian goes with the pull rather than trying to struggle out of it, sliding forwards to punch Lip in the ribs with his free hand. 

Lip clutches at him, half by the chin half by the neck, and tries to force him up. It’s a weak countermove, so Ian moves out of the hold, then grabs onto Lip by the shirt to hold him in place while he punches him in the face. Ian’s starting to get hard. It’s not especially embarrassing. It’s the South Side, some people are naturally born to get off on violence or being in power. Bloody noses can be an aphrodisiac for the Milkovich type. For the him type. Ian’s not un-self aware. He joined ROTC for a dozen reasons, but the thrill was one.

The momentum of a well thrown punch drives Ian forward, arms briefly collapsing. Lip takes advantage of the weakness to grab his chest and flip them until Lip’s on top. He’s got both hands fisted in Ian’s collar. If Lip rips this shirt Ian’s going to kick his ass a second time, after he takes him down this time. Lip headbutts him, a move that probably hurts himself just as much as Ian. Idiotic. Retired Major Matthers would have him doing a hundred pushups for making such a poor combat choice. 

They grapple for a minute then, half on the disintegrating cushions, half on the compacted dirt and gravel. Ian finally breaks the stalemate. He reaches up and squeezes Lip’s throat with his left hand as he punches him in the face again with his right. The punch is hard enough that Lip goes spinning onto his back and Ian gets the chance to scramble to his feet, sneakers kicking up dust. 

It feels good to be on his feet. He’s taller and stronger than Lip right now, he’s towering over him. Ian kicks Lip in the spine once, and then a second time for good measure. Unfortunately when Ian reaches down to grab him Lip gets a good punch in, knocking Ian to his back on the gravel. Lip’s not much of a kicker, never has been. He’d rather break every bone in his hand than boot someone once. It doesn’t surprise Ian at all that rather than keep the power position, Lip drops on top of him. Rule two: predictability kills. Ian’s waiting for the weight. The second he has it, he wraps his legs around Lip and rolls him. Properly situated on top, he grabs Lip by the shoulders and slams him into the ground once, twice, half a dozen times. For a brief moment Ian is so viscerally reminded of shoving Mickey against a flat surface, faux fighting for dominance before they end up the same place they always do, Mickey taking it and loving it, that he does what he would do then. He thrusts down.

He thrusts down onto Lip, who’s half hard too, because of course Lip is that South Side type too. He managed and fought in a fight club for fucksakes. And if the first time was sense memory, the second time is teenage instinct. Teenagers rut. Teenagers spend every waking moment wanting to mount the gender of their choosing. Ian’s gay and there’s a hard cock against him. A second thrust was unavoidable. 

Three though. Three he can control. He stops, only for Lip to buck up into him. Ian can’t help it, all this pent up energy narrows down to his pelvis and the way he can grind Lip down into the dirt, make sure he knows who’s in charge. Lip doesn’t just take it though. The next time he bucks up it’s forceful enough to roll them half over. Ian doesn’t let go of Lip’s biceps, grip so tight there will be bruises tomorrow. And Lip’s leg is hooked between his thighs, giving them both a surface to rub against. 

From there on it’s wild. It’s grinding and thrusting and wrestling. It’s bruising holds and unrelenting pressure. It’s rolling on the ground, dirt sticking to sweat and gravel biting into skin. It’s a quarter sex and three quarters being the one to dominate the other. Ian’s no slouch when it comes to either. Kash and Mickey have never complained. And he’s the best member of ROTC. He could take on the world right now. He could take on the world whenever, any time. 

But by nature of being a year older, Lip has a few tricks. The canvas of Ian’s cargo pants is thin enough to feel the way Lip pinches the sensitive crease between his leg and ass. Of course he likes a little pain during sex, who doesn’t? That added to the perfect thrusting rhythm his slutbag brother has developed over a million conquests and Ian is done for. He sprays the inside of his boxers with jizz and he even manages to hold off the realization of what he’s done until Lip comes too, sweat dripping onto him from the position they've just rolled into. 

To stave off the panic about his current reality Ian picks a coping mechanism unusual to him. He shares part of his emotions. Not all of them. There are a hundred reasons he’s mad at Lip and only half of them are really about Lip. But he throws one out into the air to see if anything can come of it. Maybe it’ll help.

“I’m sick of living in your shadow,” Ian confesses.

“Who the fuck is asking you to,” Lip snaps back. 

“It’s hard not to, when all your clothes are hand me downs.” Not to mention teachers wanting the second Gallagher boy to be as smart as the first, and people assuming he’s into ‘hood girls like Mandy because Lip is, and West Point. Fuck, _West Point_. Lip’s got everything Ian’s ever wanted, and it’s nothing to him. Lip is distinctly unpatriotic, and the world wants him to fight for them. It’s so brutally unfair.

“Not my fault I was born first,” Lip says.

“Asshole,” Ian points out, justifiably, after all the shit Lip’s put him through this summer. He had to pay Linda out of pocket for that fruit throwing tantrum Lip had at the Kash and Grab.

“Dickhead.” Lip returns, for unfathomable reasons. If he heard Lip’s ranting right, he’s pissed because he spent so much of the summer working on a baby-killing drone project in Ian’s name. Like that shit’s not going to look great on any college application. If only it wasn’t basically inevitable that he’s going to drop out and work retail and huff glue out of boredom to support fucking goddamn Karen. Ian would happily push Karen off a bridge if it meant Lip not fucking up his life further.

They lay there quiet for a minute, just exhaling. Ian’s come is cooling in his jeans, getting tacky. It’s not the first time it’s happened, there’s been a few times he and Mickey didn’t get their dicks out in time. But the context, jesus. If he has to think about it fully he might start screaming. Everything is always so fucked up.

“Wanna go change our clothes and grab some beer?” Lip suggests, not a single thing in his tone to suggest something insane and depraved just happened. Fucking mind boggling.

Yeah, though. To be fair to Lip, that’s probably the best way to deal with all of this. Growing up Gallagher means learning how to not think about the things that hurt or scar, because it’s not like anything can change. Ian’s already got a million things to not think about between Frank and Monica and Kash and his wrecked future, adding that one time he semi-had sex with his brother is just a drop in the ocean.

Ian levers himself to his feet. He doesn’t offer a hand to Lip to help him up. They should probably avoid touching for a while, until what they’ve done fades a little. “I call first shower.”

“Oh, fuck that,” Lip scoffs. “Whoever gets to the bathroom faster gets first shower.”

Ian relaxes a bit, knowing that the next time his brother touches him it’s going to be a brawl on the stairs, as rough and elbow-filled as a brotherly interaction should be. Maybe this fight will be a fuck up they can move past, rather than a fuck up that alters everything. The life he lives, that’s the best Ian can hope for.


End file.
